


O, Death

by FoxyPrincess



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Cannibalism, D/s, Dom!Jack, Gore, It's a real topping from the bottom sort of thing tho, Killing for Sport, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Sadism, Sex, Violence, Voyeurism, murder!, sub!Mark, vague pet/master play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7580323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyPrincess/pseuds/FoxyPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now,” Jack sighed, “I can explain the game to you. It’s a very simple game. I’m sure all of you have played it as children. It’s just a more… sophisticated version, if you will, of hide and seek. Same rules: get to the safe place, hide to avoid the person who is it, and don’t get caught,” Jack paused to chuckle at his own genius.</p><p>“And if we don’t make it out?” player number four questioned.</p><p>	“Well, if you manage to not stumble about and get yourself killed through sheer stupidity, my pet is likely to finish you off,” Jack snickered at the thought of Mark hiding in the shadows and listening excitedly to his spiel.</p><p>Jack sat back for a moment and cleared his throat before announcing, “Let the game begin! Best of luck to the four of you!” He then promptly hit the button to release the door to player one’s cell, shut his mic off, and sat back to watch this travesty unfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jack sipped his coffee carefully, letting it lap gently at his lips before taking it into his mouth to ensure that he did not burn his tongue. After a long drink and a satisfied hum, he decided it was time to get to work for the day and began lazily gravitating towards his newly finished and furnished monitoring lab. Once there, he sat his mug beside his keyboard and took a seat in his brand new rolling chair; he then proceeded to log into his new system and boot up all seven monitors that were attached to the tower. 

As all of the screens turned from black to a welcoming blue, Jack used the main screen to activate all of the cameras he had hidden in highly strategic locations around the grounds. Each slowly pulled up onto their corresponding monitors. On the screen directly above his operating hub, he could see each of the players snug in their little cells. He smirked to himself, thoroughly satisfied with his setup.

Jack wheeled his chair over to the desk behind him. There was a large map with several locales indicated in red Sharpie thumbtacked on the wall behind the desk. On it there was a small CD player that Jack switched on and adjusted to an adequate volume level. Beside the player there was a walkie-talkie, which Jack now picked up and spoke softly into.

“Are you ready, pet?” he cooed low and smooth.

“I am always ready,” came the chuckled and gruff response.

“Excellent, Mark. I’ll give the participants the welcoming speech.”

“If you’re so inclined, could you curb the dramatics this time? I’ve been waiting all day for this,” Mark rumbled over the device.

“So needy, aren’t you pet? Don’t you know patience is a virtue?” Jack hummed in reply, laughing softly. “I’ll try to make it quick, love.”

Jack spun himself back around and scooted to a comfortable distance from his keyboard, pulling the loudspeaker microphone inches away from his lips and flipping the switch into the on position.

“Are you all awake? Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? Hello?”

In response to his probing, Jack was welcomed by motion on screen one. All four cameras showed the players approaching the bars of their cells. He keyed in a command and the sound of four anxious and confused voices drifted through his speakers. Questions like “Who are you,” “Where am I,” and “What’s going on” all resounded amongst the static of wind.

“Patience, my friends. I shall explain all in good time. Quiet now,” Jack called through the microphone, which lead to speakers in all four cells. However, his request fell on deaf ears as all four of his captives had begun to beat on their constraints and cry out for help. The noise grated on Jack’s ears. The noises they made always did. It interrupted his thought flow and made his stomach turn. Most annoying of all it was overpowering his music.

“I. Said. SHUT. UP,” Jack yelled into the microphone, simultaneously keying in a command that electrified the bars on the players’ cages. All four of them yelped and yanked their hands away from the cage doors, finally quieting down.

“Now,” Jack sighed, “I can explain the game to you. It’s a very simple game. I’m sure all of you have played it as children. It’s just a more… sophisticated version, if you will, of hide and seek. Same rules: get to the safe place, hide to avoid the person who is it, and don’t get caught,” Jack paused to chuckle at his own genius.

“There are eight locations in this forest that you may find useful. In one, there is a map with the locations of all the other important areas marked on it. In another, there is a compass. In another, there is a backpack with canned food and water. In one there is a key code. The rest are empty. You will notice that in each of your cells, there is one flashlight. Remember, you only have so much battery power so do be conservative.”

“Wh-what is the key code for?” player number three piped up.

“Ah, yes. I suppose this will be the part you are all most interested in. There is a way for you all to survive this; there is a gate with a number pad on it. This key code will grant you access. If you escape successfully, you will be returned to your home, safe and sound. No tricks.”

“And if we don’t make it out?” player number four questioned.

“Well, if you manage to not stumble about and get yourself killed through sheer stupidity, my pet is likely to finish you off,” Jack snickered at the thought of Mark hiding in the shadows and listening excitedly to his spiel.

There were more scared whimpers and murmurs emitting from Jack’s speakers, but they had all apparently learned their lesson about noises last time.

“As for the rules (because there are a few): rule one is do not attempt to climb the fence surrounding this property. That may sound like a cunning way to foil my game; however, the fence remains electrified twenty-four hours a day. Enough volts to kill a man with a touch. Rule number two is this,” Jack lowered his voice and brought his lips to touch the microphone, “if you touch a single hair on my pet’s precious head, I will personally scoop your eyes from their sockets. Am I clear?”

The players all whimpered. Jack was positive they got his message.

“Great!” he chirped. “One last thing: you’ll notice there are numbers on the doors of your cells. Number one, it’s your lucky day! You get to go first! Number two, you will be released as soon as player number one has either escaped with her life or has fallen prey to death. It will continue this way for all four of you, player four being the last to have a turn.”

Jack sat back for a moment and cleared his throat before announcing, “Let the game begin! Best of luck to the four of you!” He then promptly hit the button to release the door to player one’s cell, shut his mic off, and sat back to watch this travesty unfold.

 

***

Cindy Wallis crept tentatively forward out of the cage that had just opened, clutching her flashlight to her chest. She directed its beam all around in an attempt to get a feel for her surroundings, but her trembling hands made it hard to keep anything in focus for long.

“H- Hello?” Her voice sounded so small and scared that it took her a moment to even realize that she had spoken.

Where the Hell was she? Everything was so dark and menacing. Cindy could barely make out the outline of trees and underbrush; she assumed she was in some kind of forest. It was so cold here, though—so much colder than her home in Missouri. How could she have gotten so far away from home? All she could remember from the day before she woke up in that cage was going out to eat with her two best friends to celebrate her promotion, and then…

The bushes behind Cindy rustled, and twigs snapped. She whirled around, pointing her flashlight toward the sounds, but there was nothing to be found in the shadows. The noises had moved now; they were on her right. Again, she whipped the light’s beam in their direction, and again she found nothing…

Wait.

Cindy squinted hard against the stark contrast of the dim, yellow light against the pitch of the night where she could just barely make out… She let out a strained yelp of shock and turned to run in the opposite direction.

_Fuckfuckfuck! There was a man back there! Was he… Was he the one on the intercom?! What the fuck is going on?!?_

She sprinted through the darkened forest, leaping over fallen branches and ducking under rotting trunks. The frigid wind bit at her cheeks and bare arms, freezing her to the bone. Behind her, short, contained bursts of maniacal laughter began to ring out. She could feel the panic rising in her chest until she felt like she was going to either pass out or explode. It took her a moment to realize that she was screaming and tears were rolling down her face. Suddenly, the trees gave way to a small, dilapidated barn. Cindy looked behind her to see if she was still being pursued, but she couldn’t make anything out in the gloom of the forest. Still having no idea whether she remained in imminent danger or not, Cindy ran into the barn and slammed its door behind her.

She slid to the ground panting, her back to the doors. Black was eating at the edges of her vision; she couldn’t feel her legs or her arms. Her breathing came in gulps and bursts, and she felt like she could lose consciousness at any moment. All she could think of was her apartment and her plants and her soft, warm bed. All Cindy wanted was to go home. She pulled her knees up to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and began to sob loudly.

“Aren’t you just… precious?” The low and sudden voice startled her, and her head snapped up as her eyes scanned the area.

“Hush, now. No need to be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you.” Cindy finally locked eyes with the man that had been chasing her all this time. She was positive it was not the same man that had been talking to her earlier; his accent was all wrong. The man cocked his head like he was waiting for a response. The only thing she could muster was a small, garbled whimper.

“Please, now. I’ve told you: I’m not going to hurt you, pretty.”

Cindy pressed her back as hard as she could into the barn door behind her as the man approached her.

“No, not going to hurt you…” He extended his hand to her; she very tentatively accepted it and let him pull her to her feet though her knees shook and threatened to give under her.

“I’m going to hurt you and then kill you,” he clarified. Cindy’s eyes snapped to meet his. He put an arm around her waist and yanked her body close to his.

Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “And no one is ever going to find your body, darling.”

 

***

Jack had known to turn the sound on the moment Mark had hesitated in front of player one. Mark did have a tendency to take the first one slowly and teasingly, and today was no different if the way Mark was smirking into camera six was any indication.

“You fucking tease,” he quipped fondly as the girl began to struggle in Mark’s hold. She was screaming and crying and making all sorts of awful noises that turned Jack’s stomach, so he shut the sound off again and settled for watching Mark dispatch the first victim of many.

Now, Jack was not one to act impulsively. He was meticulous in most all of his endeavors, but there had always been something about Mark that brought out the compulsiveness within him. As the Irishman ground his palm into the front of his jeans, he knew this was one of those moments.

_The play comes after the work, Jack-a-boy. How many times have we had to teach Mark that lesson?_

Even as he was reprimanding himself, however, Jack was leaning back in his chair and undoing his belt. God, it was just something about the way he could glide the knife effortlessly into her abdomen, like her soft, supple flesh didn’t put up any resistance. The way it penetrated her; she should fucking thank him, Christ.

Mark had opened the barn door now. He’d probably told her the gate code at this point, too. Not that it mattered. Even if he didn’t finish her off, she’d bleed out long before she completed the nearly mile-long trek to the gate.

_Stupid bitch._

His hand was warm and tight around his arousal. Mmh, he had forgotten how nice it was to stop and attend to his cock as soon as the need arose. Sure Jack certainly enjoyed the payoff that came with being patient, but sometimes it was necessary to lose control. And, honestly, he couldn’t think of anything better than the way his thumb was teasing his slit with each long, slow stroke, smearing precome along his shaft. He was starting to get worked up in the anticipation of what the slow, deliberate swagger Mark had adopted entailed. The small woman had almost made her way out the barn door, and Jack knew that was as far as his pet intended on letting her get.

His breathing picked up, his heart rate spiked, and his hand doubled its efforts. He slid his free hand under his shirt and gently began toying with his left nipple. Mark stood with his feet on either side of the dumb broad as he yanked her head back by her hair, making her arch beautifully off the ground. His knife came around her throat, and Jack could see the stark terror on her face as it gracefully sliced a nasty red stripe across her neck. As the first spurt of blood left her, Jack hollered out as his orgasm washed over him. Come splashed across his belly in thick, hot stripes, catching in his hair. The final waves of heat and pleasure rolled out of him, and Mark let Cindy Wallis’s body hit the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

The girl was choking out the last notes of her death rattle as Mark wiped his knife off on his jeans and exited the dilapidated barn. The first kill of the night always made him sentimental, and memories of the very first night he killed for Jack came flooding in with the feeling.

_“Are you sure about this?” Mark hesitated at the door, searching Jack’s face for uncertainties. “God knows I want this, but…”_

_“Mark,” Jack gently grasped the other man’s upper arms, rubbing his thumbs over his biceps, “no one but you and I will ever know what happens tonight. I will keep you safe.” Mark gave a small, genuine smile that was quickly returned._

_“Just remember that my word is law now. What I say goes. Do that, and you won’t ever have to worry about the consequences of the outside world again. The only consequences you’ll have are mine, pet.”_

That was the first time Jack had called him “pet,” and no matter how much time had passed, Mark was still absolutely infatuated with being Jack’s pet. The feeling of adequacy that radiates in his chest when Jack praises him, when he coos and tousles his hair and calls him a “good pet,” never lessens. In fact, Mark’s sure it increases three-fold every time Jack looks at him with that spark in his cerulean eyes; that spark is only ever directed at him. Mark knows—as much as Jack would like to deny this fact—that he holds a certain power over the Irishman. Mark is the only thing that truly brings him happiness. And God, there is not a better feeling in the world than hearing Jack casually call him—

“Pet? Are you listening?” Jack’s voice drifted from Mark’s nearly muted walkie-talkie.

“Sorry,” Mark quickly apologized as he fumbled the machine off his belt, “I had it turned down.”

“That was one hell of a show, darling,” came the breathless reply instead of the reprimand the brunet was expecting.

“What?”

“Where are your manners? Do you not know how to take a compliment?” Mark could tell Jack was using forced anger to cover up his embarrassment. Had… Had Jack just gotten off to him wasting that dumb slut? Because Mark could recognize that quivery breathlessness anywhere.

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m glad you… enjoyed yourself.” Mark knew he was treading thin ice; Jack would either ignore his probing or snap. There was no mild anger with him.

“Shuddup. Player two’s already fifty yards out from his cage. You’re slacking, Mark.”

The punishment was immediate and harsh. There was no humor in the way he’d used the brunet’s real name, no witty sarcasm. Mark felt like he’d failed to make his lover happy, and that was the worst feeling.

Well. Only one way to fix that. Mark clipped his walkie-talkie back onto his belt and high-tailed it towards the western side of the enclosure.

 

***

“Fucking Mark,” Jack grumbled to himself as he wheeled his chair back towards his other desk. Taking his shirt between his teeth to prevent it from slipping down his chest and into the mess on his stomach, he used his clean hand to retrieve a Kleenex from the box beside the radio. Carefully, he cleaned himself off and disposed of the used tissue. It had been so long since he’d had a lapse of self-control like that; he felt the need to wash himself, but he knew he didn’t have time to shower. Jack stood and tugged his pants back up onto his waist as he headed for the bathroom.

He made short work of wetting a rag and wiping himself down, starting with the perspiration on his forehead and working his way down to the still slightly sticky residue on his stomach. After placing the rag in the hamper, he washed his hands and hurried back into the monitoring lab to find that his pet was already closing in on his second kill of the night.

 

***

Melvin Armstrong was running for his life. He had heard the screams, and he knew what they meant. He knew whoever—or whatever—was out here had murdered that girl, and he knew he was next unless he could get as much of a head start as possible. All he could hear now was the rapid thump thump thump thump of his own feet crushing the dried, decaying foliage beneath him. He had no idea where he was going; he was just sprinting as quickly as he could in any direction that felt safe.

Suddenly over the sound of Melvin’s feet and lungs and heart all straining to keep up with his adrenaline-induced panic, some sixth sense could just barely pick up on a second set of footfalls. Melvin screamed. He could feel more than see the man pursuing him; his imagination ran wild—teeth and claws and huge, terrifying red eyes all gunning for him from the dark wilderness.

_Oh, God. Please! Please! I don’t deserve to die this way! I-I’m a good man! Please! Oh, Christ!_

“Please, God! I don’t want to die!” Melvin finally realized that he was gibbering to himself in an almost unintelligible mantra of pitiful pleas for mercy. Just when it seemed like he would have to continue running until he passed out and let the thing consume him, the ground in front of him dropped off. He had just enough time to skid to a halt before the dried soil gave way to a twenty foot sheer drop. Slowly, Melvin turned around to face the monster that had chased him into this corner.

 

***

Mark’s lips quirked up into a menacing smile as he panted to a stop behind the terrified man. Jack had certainly not picked society’s best and brightest for this game. All he’d had to do was let this idiot back himself into a corner; honestly, the hardest part had been keeping up with the lunatic. His prey trembled before him, and Mark slid his knife from its sheath.

“Please… Ple-please… Please-God-please…” Words mumbled between gasps of freezing air. Pointless cries for help that would not come.

“I am God here. And your whimpering disgusts me.”

Mark took a leisurely step forward; the man jolted and swiftly took a step back. He was right on the precipice of the cliff. Mark’s grin widened.

“Boo!”

With a sudden jerk and one last step backward, Melvin plunged head-first to the solid ground below. The sickening crunch of bones snapping was audible even from where Mark stood, dumbstruck, on the cliff’s summit.

 

***

Jack snickered to himself as he could see the rage bubbling up onto Mark’s face.

“Goddamnit! What the fuck?! He was right there! I had him! Fuck!” His pet’s shouts drifted through the speakers, and Jack’s snickers turned to full on laughter as Mark pounded his fist against a nearby tree. Jack grabbed his walkie-talkie from its place beside his keyboard.

 

“What’s wrong, pet? Did things suddenly… go south?” Jack erupted into laughter at his own joke. Mark sulked quietly. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure the next one won’t… get the jump on you.”

 

***

Mark couldn’t help his grin. Jack’s jokes were awful, but they were funny in spite of themselves. The moment of levity quickly faded away, however, as he realized he had already burned through half of his playthings for the night. He took a moment to steady himself, rolling his shoulders and breathing the cold night air deep into his lungs. The other half would not escape as lightly as player two had. He growled low in his throat as he took off in a quick jog towards player three’s cage. As he deftly avoided the familiar foliage of the enclosure, he brought the memory of his first night killing for Jack back into his mind’s eye.

_Jack just stood there, watching. Waiting for Mark to let it all go and unravel for him. The brunet slowly crept down the side alley towards his goal. There was a young man leaned against the wall of the nightclub he’d recently stumbled out of, sloppy drunk. He was talking loudly on the phone, saying things like, “This is the seventh time this month!” and “I’m really over your stupid hero-complex bullshit, Tyrik!” Any semblance of curiosity Mark had about the man’s conversation was smothered with a backwards glance at Jack; the grimace on his face was enough to hurry him along._

_He slid closer, pulling the knife Jack had given him earlier out of his jacket pocket. God, he was right there. He was no more than three feet behind the unsuspecting moron. He could just-just… But he hesitated and looked back at Jack for reassurance. He found it in the way the other was biting his fist and teasing the front of his jeans with his other._

_Without further thought, Mark swung his arm around and buried the knife in the man’s throat, silencing him. He couldn’t help himself; he pulled the man’s back against his chest and felt the warm life draining quickly from him. He let the blood of his first victim stain his grey t-shirt, and he knew. He knew then what he still knows now: Killing was in him. It was who he was, and he would never stop. Especially if Jack would always smile at him that way when he did._

Nothing could excite and focus him quite like the memory of his first kill, and that was exactly what he needed right now—focus. He was nearing the east-side silo where he knew player three was hiding. His failure ended here.

 

***

Manuel Trevino popped the end of his flashlight into his mouth to steady it as he attempted to read the map he’d found. There was a big red circle that kindly signified his location in the almost two mile wide enclosure. All of the other locations had smiley face stickers over them. He could feel them mocking him. There was no way to do this but fuck-all if he wasn’t about to try.

Just then there was a clanking noise on the outside of the silo he’d taken brief refuge in. A chuckle accompanied the sound of metal-on-metal, and Manuel knew it was time to go. He hurriedly folded the map and shoved it into his jacket pocket, clicking his flashlight off. He only got two steps toward the doorway when a figure appeared and blocked his way. He slowly backed away.

“Are you afraid, darling?” Manuel didn’t answer. There was no need to. The menace in the doorway could probably smell his terror in the air that hung thick and heavy in the aging grain silo. He glanced quickly around himself for any other means of escape and found a ladder just to his right. He stuck his flashlight back into his mouth and burst into a full sprint across the interior of the silo. He didn’t look to see if the crazy bastard was following him; he just ran and started climbing faster than he ever had before in his life. As he pulled himself onto the silo’s roof, he realized his mistake. He could hear laughter drifting up from the ground.

“You know you just made this almost too easy, right?” More laughter and a pause. “All I have to do now is wait. You’re not going anywhere without me knowing about it.”

Manuel looked around for something—anything—that could get him out of this situation. His only hope was a nearby tree, but he’d have to distract his pursuer first.

_Think. Think, you fucking idiot! C’mon, we didn’t watch the entirety of Lie to Me just to forget everything now!_

“You put yourself on display for me, didn’t you? Is that why you won’t come down from your perch, pretty?” He knew the man was growing impatient as he began pacing swiftly near the bottom of the silo.

“W-why don’t you come up here?” Manuel managed finally. “There’s only one ladder. Like you said, I’m not going anywhere.”

The man on the ground seemed to consider the idea. Manuel needed him to take the bait; it was his only way out.

“I think it’d be more fun to make you climb down to me,” he called out. Shit.

“I-I… I can’t.” He had no idea what he was doing, but anything was worth a shot at the moment.

“And why is that?” the man drawled. “Are you afraid of heights, pretty?”

A light went off in Manuel’s mind.

“Yes! I’m terrified! A-a-and if you don’t come up here, you’ll never get me! I can’t climb back down!”

 

***

_Is this real life right now? Seriously?_

Mark scratched the nape of his neck as he pondered his current quandary. He was going to have to rescue player three like a cat from a tree—just so he could kill him. What the Hell.

“Alright now, sweetheart. You stay still, and I’ll come save you.”

He had a niggling suspicion that player three was up to something, but he’d certainly seen weirder in previous games. After being hit in the head with a dead beaver, Mark was pretty sure he’d seen it all. He was halfway up the ladder when he heard the snap of branches outside the silo.

“Son of a bitch!”

He practically fell off the ladder in his rush to descend. Running out the door he saw player three’s back as he disappeared into the woods again. This one was going to put up a decent struggle then? Alright. Mark was up for the challenge. He hurried into the woods after his prey.

 

***

_Holy shit that was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done. I think my arm is broken._

There was a tear in his jacket sleeve that was quickly being stained with his blood, shining an ominous black in the moonlight. He was injured badly, but he was alive—for now. He let out an incredulous and partially hysterical laugh as he ducked under a low-hanging branch. He could barely believe he had pulled that off, and he was pretty sure he was on his way to a new location. While the food and water sounded great, he’d be much happier with finding the code to the gate instead. If he could just get that, he was pretty sure the gate was back towards where he had started in his cage. Then he could go home. Home to his aunt and his dogs and his bed. And bed did sound so very good to him at that moment.

_Focus! There’s the next place!_

There were three badly wrecked cars all parked near a small toolshed. He ran immediately up to the shed and tried the door, but it was firmly locked. A piece of paper next to the door caught his eye, so he turned his flashlight back on to read it.

_“Key’s in one of the cars._  
_They’re unlocked, but one of them has an alarm set to go off at the slightest disturbance._  
_Good luck. You’ll need it._  
_\--Jack :)”_

Manuel turned his light off again and banged his forehead into the wall beside the note. He was fairly sure he’d shaken his attacker a while ago, but a car alarm would certainly give him away. After a moment, he turned to face the cars and decided he’d better get started. He approached the large green SUV nearest the shed and gently placed his hand on the driver’s side door handle. It opened with a click and nothing more. Breathing a sigh of relief, he clicked his light on once more and began searching the car.

After climbing over seats and ripping at upholstery, he decided the key was not in this vehicle. He climbed out the way he entered and made his way to the tan pinto on the far side of the SUV. Again he gingerly placed his hand on the handle. The click the door made was barely audible over the wailing of the alarm into the still night air. Cursing loudly, Manuel shined his light into the front seat, finding another note.

_“It’s in the Buick. :)”_

The only other car in the opening was a white Buick with a broken windshield. Manuel sprinted over to it and ripped the door open. He threw himself inside and began searching frantically until the key finally fell from one of the visors. He snatched it form the floorboard, sprinted to the shed, and briefly remembered that this shed could contain no more than a compass. Fumbling, he dropped his flashlight but finally managed to get the door open just as footfalls became audible over the car alarm.

_It’s fucking empty._

Indeed, the shed did not have a thing inside it. Manuel screamed and snatched his flashlight off the ground before he broke into yet another run.

“Come out, come out! Wherever you are! Marky’s gonna find you!”

The singsong voice was much closer than he’d expected. Manuel turned and flashed his light behind him to get an idea of just how close when he saw it.

_1497_

The gate code was painted on the back of the shed; the cars were a trap, and he walked right into it.


	3. Chapter 3

_Car alarm gets ‘em every time._

Jack leaned back into his chair and stretched his arms above his head. He had a good feeling Mark was about to wrap this one up (or unwrap him, depending on Mark’s preference), and the itch to prepare the lab for Mark’s arrival had been nagging at him for long enough. He’d be filthy, so Jack would be sure to take certain precautions to protect his floors and his sanity. Watching his pet tear people to little bits was more exhilarating and arousing than anything else he’d ever seen, but the residual muck that went along with such activities was revolting. Mark would have to wash up immediately afterwards… Even if they were just going to get sweaty again soon thereafter.

Jack spread a large tarp in front of the main entryway and set out several towels, which would inevitably end up in the burn pile along with everything Mark was wearing tonight. Next, he set out a trash bag for Mark to deposit his clothes in. Only then would he be allowed to walk to the bathroom to thoroughly wash himself. Jack went ahead and laid out a towel and some soap and shampoo for his pet.

Jack had begun humming along to the music still drifting from his radio in the main room, so it took him longer than usual to hear the steady beeping sounds from the monitors. The same beeping sound that signaled that a player has come within 200 yards of the main gate. As soon as the realization dawned on him, Jack hurried into the monitoring room and threw himself back into his chair.

 

***

Manuel was shouting the gate code at the top of his lungs. The last thing he wanted to do was forget it once he reached his destination. He’d been sprinting for what felt like an hour. His legs, lungs, and face were on fire as he steadily closed the distance between him and freedom.

“You won’t make it! I’m gonna catch you, you little fucker! I’ll make you scream, you filthy fucking rat!”

The niceties from earlier in the night were gone, apparently, as the string of obscenities and threats poured continuously from Manuel’s pursuer. They were empty promises, however, and both of them knew it. Manuel had proven repeatedly to be the faster runner, and he was so close—so close—to the gate. He slammed into it at full speed and wildly stabbed his finger into the keys.

1-4-9-7

It clicked open, and Manuel slid through the opening as quickly as he could.

“No!! No no no fucking no!” The words lost shape and suddenly became nothing more than shouts and grunts.

“I fucking beat you!” Manuel screamed. “I did it! You fucking suck, asshole! I win!”

The man charged towards Manuel anyway, brandishing a nasty blade, until the walkie-talkie on his belt chirped.

“Mark! Mark, stop! Stand down! He’s out of bounds!”

“He’s so fucking close, though! C’mon, Jack, please!”

“No. Player four is out of his cage. Go, pet.”

Manuel stood speechless, still in shock that he wasn’t dead. He just stood there and watched the gate close and lock once more. He stood perfectly still and waited. He didn’t know exactly what he was waiting for, but waiting was all he could do. He didn’t know where he was or how to leave, so he waited. Eventually, a loudspeaker buzzed to life from nearby.

“There are arrows on the ground, you know.”

Manuel recognized “Jack’s” disembodied voice by his accent, and looked at the ground around him. After all, the man hadn’t led him astray before.

“Follow them, Manuel.”

And he did. There were orange arrows spray painted on the ground every few yards leading him towards a small building in the distance. He wasn’t sure exactly why Jack was being so nice to him. Wasn’t he the one who put him here, after all? Didn’t he design this sick little game? In spite of all the doubts and questions that Manuel had, he trusted the Irish voice on the other end of the speaker. There was something in his tone of voice that made him want to follow his instruction. It had some reassuring quality to it that Manuel couldn’t overlook or outthink. So he followed the arrows across the ground and into the building.

 

***

Jack was waiting for Manuel when he opened the door.

“Hello, Manuel,” he greeted cheerfully. The other man stood dumbfounded for a few moments before he mumbled a small “hello.”

“I’d like to congratulate you on a job well done. You’ve won my little game; that’s not something many people can say, my friend.”

Manuel was quiet for a time before asking, “So… You’re Jack?”

“Yes, my friends call me that.”

“Wha-What happens now, Jack?” Manuel gingerly placed a hand on his wounded arm.

“Why don’t we get you patched up before we talk about that? You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, dear.” Jack held out an arm in an inviting gesture. Manuel hesitated before limping towards Jack and the entrance to the rest of the lab.

Just as the taller man passed by, Jack shifted the syringe down from his sleeve and into his right hand. He jabbed it into the other’s right-side jugular. Manuel was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Jack swiftly put the cap back on the syringe and grabbed both of Manuel’s arms so he could drag him into the storage room while he watched Mark’s last kill of the night. Once the man was tucked away, Jack settled in for what he knew would be quite the show.

 

***

Mark was done with distractions and games and jokes. He was finished being taunted and teased by his prey. He stalked player four from the underbrush as the imbecile deliberated back and forth across the threshold of his cage. Mark sheathed his knife; he wouldn’t need it for this. He suddenly stood to his full height and charged at the man. He barely had time to scream before Mark was beating him mercilessly. Mark could feel the bone and cartilage of his face snapping and crunching beneath his fists. Blood sprayed warm over his face and chest as he beat the useless waste of skin beneath him to death. Eventually the man stopped moving, and soon thereafter, Mark stopped hitting him. He sat, straddled across the man’s torso, watching for signs of life. There was a low rattling noise straining from the man’s throat. Mark knew how to fix it. He leaned low and placed his open mouth over the front of the dying man’s throat. For a moment, he just sat there like that, tasting the carnage he’d created. Then suddenly, Mark snapped his teeth together—piercing, ripping, tearing the tendons and muscles and veins in his way. He sat back with a mouth full of flesh and gore and breathed. He breathed deeply through his nose and drank in the feeling—the sense of power and raw aggression coursing through him.

He spat his mouthful onto the ground as the blood grew cold. He needed a different kind of satisfaction now. One itch was taken care of, but another had arisen that would require more finesse to scratch. He needed Jack. He needed home. He stood and turned away from the corpse of player four. He let his feet carry him automatically to his next destination.

 

***

The first thing Manuel noticed when he woke up was the God-awful pounding in his head and the looming dizziness that threatened to make him vomit. Once he tried moving, he noticed the returning pain in his arm. He also realized the room he was in was less of a room and more of a closet. It was very small, only a couple of feet wide, and it was lined with shelves. There was a mini fridge against the wall. As he knelt next to the fridge, he became acutely aware of the scratch in his throat. He figured his best bet for a drink would be to look inside the refrigerator and hope for the best.

He immediately regretted his decision. Its shelves were lined with mason jars full of some sort of green sludge; inside them he could make out eyes. Human eyeballs floated around inside the jars. Each of them had a label. Owen (6/11). Micaela (8/27). Carson (2/07). Quay (4/30). There were more, but Manuel couldn’t stomach to read any more. He slammed the door shut and attempted to get on his feet, but the grogginess still clouding his mind weighed him down. Eventually, he gave in and simply lay down on the tile again, waiting for the right time to struggle and hoping it would be enough.

 

***

Jack was waiting patiently just inside the main entryway when Mark arrived.

“Hello, darling. Did you have fun with player four?” Jack asked through a grin. Mark snarled.

“You know I did. You fucking watched. You like to watch, don’t you? That’s why you’re here instead of in there, torturing the escapee, right? You want to watch me undress.”

“Mind your mouth, pet,” he whispered. Normally, this level of disobedience and outright sarcasm would be heavily punished. Normally, Mark wouldn’t dare to speak this way to Jack. Normally. But the night had been anything but normal. Mark had lost two kills through no folly but his own, and he was livid. Aside from that, Mark was also right—on all fronts. Not that Jack would ever tell him that.

Here he was, watching Mark peel the flannel button down off his shoulders, blood still drying into the fabric and beginning to flake from Mark’s skin. As the shirt was finally dropped into the trash bag, the light of the lab revealed dozens of tiny scrapes and cuts along Mark’s torso and neck from crawling through the underbrush, and Jack longed to press his fingers into them. He could almost taste the noises his pet would make, mewling and begging. Apologies for his shortcomings and his transgressions tumbling from him like prayers to a cruel and fickle god.

But Jack knew he would not deny Mark tonight. He never could on these nights full of murder and savagery. Tonight he would give Mark what he needed, what he always needed from him: a firm, guiding hand and reassurance that he was good enough.

Mark had finished stripping and was now standing stark naked in the middle of the tarp Jack had laid down earlier, waiting. Jack realized he was blocking Mark’s way to the bathroom, and shuffled slightly to the side. Just enough that Mark’s chest brushed his arm when he walked past. The warmth and scent of his skin so close electrified Jack. Knowing, seeing, what a powerful and vicious creature he could be and then knowing how Mark would bow to him was more thrilling than any heinous act Jack had ever witnessed or even committed.

“You really should finish up whatever you need to do, darling. I won’t be long in the shower,” Mark mumbled as a sort of apology as he turned the corner and shut the bathroom door. Jack just stood and listened to the sound of the bath turning on before Mark switched the water flow to the shower. Once he remembered how to walk, Jack fumbled numbly back to the storage closet and got his tools together. He laid them out neatly on a table, and then he pulled a chair out of the closet, positioning it next to the table. Finally he retrieved the length of rope that hung above his mini fridge. Everything was set up for the extraction; all that was left now was to drag Manuel into the chair and tie him down.

 

***

Mark snapped the shower curtain closed as soon as he was fully in the spray of the water. Jack had already put out a towel and his soap; he couldn’t decide if it was a sign of affection or an indication that Jack was eager for him to be clean. Either way, he made quick work of rinsing the dried blood and dirt from his skin.

He could hear Jack in the main lab scooting things around and preparing for the strange sort of ritual he performed on all of the players who were unlucky enough to “win” his game. Mark couldn’t really understand the appeal. He often used his teeth in the struggle to end a life, but once his prey was bested, he didn’t feel the need to consume them. They were weak, so why should he want part of them inside him? Jack said it was like a final insult, but Mark felt like killing them was sufficient.

Lathering up a rag, he washed and scrubbed until he couldn’t smell the lingering scent of copper anymore. Mark was just stepping onto the bath mat when he heard a yell and a loud clank of metal hitting tile. He slowly wrapped his towel around his waist and listened.

“Mark! Mark Goddamnit, fucking get in here!”

His adrenaline spiked to new highs as he threw himself through the bathroom door and sprinted down the hall. Jack was hurt; he could hear it in his voice. He rounded the corner to the sight of the same fucker that had given him so much trouble already standing on shaking legs and wielding a scalpel. Jack was leaning against the far wall holding his chest. There was a tear in his shirt, and red was quickly running through his fingers. Mark couldn’t breathe.

“St-stay back! I’ll fucking gut you!”

Mark charged him; his head collided with the floor with such velocity that Mark could hear his teeth bang together. His arms waved around uselessly as Mark snatched the small blade and threw it aside. He grappled the other man, twisted his arms behind his back, and pulled him up into a kneeling position. He wasn’t going anywhere now. Out of his peripheral, he saw Jack saunter across the room to his table of horrors and pick up an instrument shaped like a small ice cream scoop. He couldn’t stop the vicious grin that spread across his lips. It seemed Jack would take his prize after all.

There was no speech or fancy preamble. Jack simply approached the two of them and, forcefully grabbing Manuel’s upper lid to hold his eye open, slotted the instrument in beside his eyeball. The screams began instantly, growing in intensity with each rough movement of Jack’s arm. Mark was surprised at how much fight the guy still had left in him. Or perhaps Mark was just a bit too focused on the way Jack looked in that moment. His face was cold and sharp; he felt nothing for the man screaming under his ministrations. Mark rarely got to watch Jack this closely when he made a kill, but now he was looking up at him from behind his current victim. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost imagine he was the one under Jack’s careful and elegant hand. Christ, this fucker ought to be begging Jack to take the other one.

The wails finally tapered off as Jack pulled away and deposited the organ in a mason jar on the table with his tools. The man in Mark’s arms slumped forward and whimpered. He had begun babbling apologies and begging to be killed.

“Tsk-tsk. Where’s all of your fight gone? Have you had enough?” Jack purred.

The only reply was a shaky, desperate nod. Jack outright laughed.

“That’s so sad, sweetheart. Because I’m going to take the other one, too.”

Mark could feel the rumble of player three’s wretched yell reverberate in his chest, and he couldn’t help himself from smiling back at Jack’s dead eyes and hollow grin. His hand came back up and gripped Manuel’s hair to hold him in place as he inserted the tool behind his other eye. The screaming resumed, but there was no real struggle. Jack simply took what he wanted of the broken man before him and added it to the mason jar.

For a brief moment, the only sounds in the room were the gentle clink of Jack placing his tools back in proper order and the uneven panting from the two men in the floor. Jack turned and looked at Mark with a soft fondness in his eyes.

“Get rid of that for me, will you, darling?”

Mark grinned and let Manuel’s arms go in favor of grabbing him under the chin and by his hair. A quick jerk of his arms and the body in front of him went limp and hit the tile with a thud.

 

***

Jack slowly stalked toward Mark, eyes alight with a feral need.

“I need you to get rid of that, pet, and then I need you to go lie down and wait for me.” Mark pouted slightly as he stood, towel slipping down his thighs and falling uselessly to the floor.

“Don’t pout, pet. I won’t be long. Just need to do something with this cut,” Jack continued softly, gesturing to his chest.

He headed towards the bathroom and removed his shirt, throwing it into the hamper on his way through the door. He grabbed the side of the mirror and pulled it open to reveal the medicine cabinet behind it. After gathering the antibiotic ointment, alcohol, and gauze, he closed the cabinet and retrieved a rag. Jack poured a generous amount of alcohol to the rag and gently dabbed at the thin cut along his chest.

_It’s a good fuckin job he sliced instead of stabbing._

Once he had disinfected the wound, he applied a small amount of the ointment to a Q-tip and smeared on a thin coating. Finally, he wrapped a strip of gauze around his torso and put everything away. Now Jack was definitely done being this far away from Mark. If his pet wasn’t waiting in his bed when he got there, there was going to be hell to pay.

Jack walked swiftly down the hall and into the bedroom; Mark was there, laying on his back, hard and waiting patiently for Jack, who wasted no time in sauntering over to sit beside his lover on the bed. He placed his hand on Mark’s chest.

“You were so fucking beautiful tonight, pet,” he whispered, leaning down to touch his nose against Mark’s. “You got so frustrated, didn’t you?”

Mark keened and nodded.

“Then, Christ, love. Watching you tear that poor sap apart earlier was-“ Jack made a noise of approval before continuing, “And the way you protected me. You were so good tonight.”

“J-Jack…” Mark closed his eyes and bared his neck. Jack huffed a laugh and laid a gentle kiss to the base of Mark’s throat. Suddenly he stood, drawing a whine from the man on the bed. Jack smiled reassuringly as he undid his belt and his jeans. His skin was on fire, and the cool air in the room sent chills crackling across his back and arms. Quickly he retrieved the lubricant from his bedside table and turned his back to Mark. He propped one knee up on the edge of the bed and bent forward slightly to expose his hole as he coated his fingers. He could barely force himself to only put in one finger at a time; he was so ready to take Mark, but the teasing was almost half the fun.

“Please. Please, Jack. May I touch you?” Mark whispered reverently from behind Jack.

“Not yet, darling. Soon, I promise.” Jack had worked two fingers into himself and was rocking back onto them, and all Mark could do was watch quietly and wait. Jack slid a third finger in and moaned softly as he adjusted. Finally, he slid all three digits out and grabbed the lube once more. He poured a generous amount into his palm and began stroking Mark’s already painfully hard cock. After only a few quick tugs, Jack let go and threw his leg over Mark, straddling his hips. Mark grasped his dick and held himself still for Jack to slowly sink onto. After Jack bottomed out, he gently took Mark’s hands in his own and kissed his fingertips.  
“This is where you belong. Underneath me. Inside me. This is where you’re at your best, pet.”

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, too, pet.”

Jack slowly lifted himself off Mark’s hips until just the tip was inside him then quickly let himself fall back down. He kept this rough and fast pace as he rode Mark, pulling needy whines and moans out of the man underneath him. Jack could tell his pet was close, but he knew he would not come without explicit permission. Although he, himself, was nearing his climax much faster than he had anticipated, so he decided to let Mark have what he had begged so pretty for.

“Touch me.”

Mark grasped Jack’s cock tightly and set his pace to match the roll of his lover’s hips. Jack cried out and arched his back into his pet’s touch as he pushed himself just up to the edge, holding back just long enough to give a final command.

“Come for me, pet.” Jack threw his head back and moaned loudly as he came over Mark’s chest. He could feel Mark finding his release deep inside of him.

As the two of them held each other close and came down from their high, they both reveled in the fact that they had been so lucky to end up together in this sick game of death and ecstasy. The world could have dished out any number of cruelties to them, and instead they found one another. Jack kissed Mark’s cheek as he drifted slowly into sleep, knowing that he wouldn’t be far behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Ho kay, so here's the mandatory "I know Mark and Jack are real people, so this is a little weird" disclaimer. I just wrote this because the idea of dark versions of two very kind, loving, upbeat people is kinda really very much hot. Also I lel a lil at the idea of Mark or Jack stumbling onto this and being mildly amused and perturbed. Enjoy the sin you filthy fuckers. <3
> 
> (PS you can find me on tumblr at sweetnsadistic.tumblr.com)


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